I didn't return to the condo to relax.
I didn't need comfort, nor did I want anyone to see me break.
Instead, I went to the stable.
Alone.
Celeste greeted me as always, calm and unwavering.
She didn't ask questions.
She didn't judge.
She only existed, perfectly, like a mirror of what I wished I could feel.
I saddled her quickly, methodically, the familiar rhythm of leather, straps, and buckles soothing the tension coiling in my chest.
Each movement was precise, efficient, almost ritualistic. I had no need for an audience tonight, no one would watch, no one would notice, and no one would care if I failed.
The arena was empty, moonlight reflecting off the polished sand.
I urged Celeste forward, the first canter slow, deliberate, controlled.
My mind replayed the events of the day, Calix's parents' polite scrutiny, the restaurant, the uninvited chaos in his unit, the awkward reminder that life always had a way of testing my composure.
I didn't allow myself anger.
I didn't allow frustration.
I only allowed focus.
Faster.
Turn.
Pivot.
Shot.
Every movement, every maneuver, every push against Celeste's strength became a release.
I let the disappointment seep into the rhythm of our ride, each gallop a beat of defiance against the world's expectations.
My muscles ached.
Sweat ran down my back.
My hair was plastered to my face.
And still, I kept going.
Faster.
Harder.
Pushing until the pain was sharp enough to erase thought.
Until the exhaustion was heavy enough to silence the noise in my mind.
Celeste whinnied softly, responding to my commands with unwavering precision. Together, we moved as one, fluid, disciplined, unbroken.
For hours, I let the arena swallow me.
Every misstep, every failure, every moment of judgment, absorbed, transformed, expelled through motion.
By the time I dismounted, my body trembling and drenched in sweat, the world had returned to silence.
The moon hung low, casting silver light over Celeste's coat.
I ran a hand along her mane, chest heaving, letting the quiet settle around us.
No applause.
No recognition.
No reassurance.
Just the stable, Celeste, and the certainty that, for tonight, I had found a way to survive the chaos.
I didn't cry.
I didn't seek comfort.
I didn't even think about Calix.
I had my own way to endure.
And for the first time that evening, that was enough.